


Nothing to Lose

by Inkaley



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Brawl - Freeform, Brother-Sister Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Episode: s03e12 Brother's Keeper, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Implied Jake/Alicia, Kissing, Living Together, Love, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Nick hiding Troy, Nick's POV, Nick/Troy bonding, POV First Person, Redemption, Romance, Roommates, Secret Plan, Stopping the horde, Troy being Troy, Violence, alternate version of 3x12, consummation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkaley/pseuds/Inkaley
Summary: “Okay, you got two options,” I point out darkly. “Either you sneak out the way you came in before Crazy Dog sees you, or I can hide you for a couple of days.”“There is a third way…”There is. But it sure as hell won’t involve you leading a horde of flesh craving, bloodthirsty corpses to our home, snuffing out the lives of everyone we ever knew and loved. Not on my watch, boy.[Trick / Nitroy getting-together; Nick deciding to hide Troy after his nightly visit, alternate version of 3x12 “Brother’s Keeper”]





	1. Nightly Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kamilamelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamilamelo/gifts).



> Credit for this idea goes to the lovely Kamilamelo, who was as kind as to leave me her plot idea.  
> Thanks much for inspiring me to write this - and of course thank you so much for all your wonderful words on my stories <3  
> I really hope the story comes close to what you had in mind, and you'll have fun reading it!  
> Enjoy!

“Okay, you got two options,” I point out darkly. “Either you sneak out the way you came in before Crazy Dog sees you, or I can hide you for a couple of days…”

When he doesn’t reply, I end up raising my hands, implying: _What’s it gonna be, Troy?_

Truth is, I’m not even sure he’d be able to give me a proper reply even if he knew the answer himself, considering the shape he’s in. Dusty clothes, dirty skin, messy hair – and a dull look in his eyes that really makes me question his sanity, aside from all the crazy bullshit he’s been driveling so far. He’s dehydrated and sleep-deprived. Whatever’s happened to him out there in the desert, it couldn’t have been good. All the more a miracle he’s still alive.

And of course, unsurprisingly, the only thing I get for an answer is a wicked smile. “There is a third way,” he informs me ominously, and the world goes upside down in an instant.

With a hasty gesture, the door is being shut in my face, the key turned around with a clicking sound.

My first impulse is to roll my eyes, like: _Do you really wanna play that childish game now?_ But in the back of my head, I’m already aware that this moment might well be anything but a game, rather a dangerous twist of fate that might have severe implications, even without him spelling it out.

“In a few hours, this whole place is gonna be obliterated…”

He starts rambling something about him wanting me to get Jake to show him this beast he’s been babbling about, but I’m not even listening. My fingers locking around the door handle, I start rattling, struggling to get inside.

“Open up. Open the door, Troy,” I demand, voice deep and commanding, as I try to cover up the panic that’s slowly but surely starting to stir inside me, clouding my rational judgement.

 _Obliterated? By a beast?_ What the hell is he talking about? Has he gone nuts out there alone in the desert? And how am I supposed to fight a threat I don’t even have the slightest clue about on what it actually is?!

No use. The door won’t budge.

And Troy vanishes in the darkness.

_Fuck this!_

I’ve started heading for the backdoor before I even fully realize what’s happening. This is a moment of fate, a tipping point in all our lives – that’s the only thing I’m sure of. I mustn’t mess this up. If I do, we’ll pay for it dearly.

I’m just about to hoist myself over the rail of the porch, when all of a sudden I realize that messing up might be exactly what I’m about to do here. This is Troy Otto we’re talking about. He considers himself smart. Smarter than others. He analyses and predicts people. So if I want to take him on, I’ll have to stop thinking like myself. I’ll have to think like Troy Otto. And Troy Otto would anticipate what Nick Clark would do.

He would predict my next steps.

Letting out a short breath, I stop in the middle of my movement, and instead of swinging my legs over the rail, I lower myself back on the porch. It’s risky, I’m aware. I’m going for broke here and if I’m wrong, the consequences will be grave. But at the same time, a voice inside me tells me I’m right.

Softly, slowly, my bare feet silent on the wooden floor, I make my way back to the entrance, positioning myself right next to the locked door, pressing my back against the wall as closely as possible, to make sure he won’t spot me from any of the windows.

It’s ridiculous, I know. Chances are he’s vanished through the backdoor – now unguarded – and is already long gone, while I’m lying in wait here for a door that’s never gonna open, like the most pathetic secret agent in all of history.

Only, as it turns out, my intuition has been exactly right. Not even five seconds later, I hear a quiet rustling behind the door, then a key is turned.

I throw myself at Troy as soon as the door is opened, tackling him to the ground, and the next thing I know is we’re both lying on the floor in the foyer, me with a grip on his collar, holding him down.

Troy’s so perplexed at my predicting him, he’s unable to put up much of a fight at first, but it doesn’t take long until he’s regained his composure. No matter how beat and shocked and sleep-depraved he actually may be at that very moment, he still manages to crack one of his wicked smiles.

“Smart move, Nicky, very smart,” he hisses at me cynically. “I’m proud of you.”

“You’re not leaving until you’ve told me what all of this is about,” I growl at him darkly, tightening my grip on his shirt as if to stress my point.

“Oh, I’d love to stay, really,” he assures me quickly, “but I’m afraid duty calls… The shepherd needs to return to his herd – otherwise the flock will get lost…”

“What are you talking about?” I demand again. “That beast from the desert you’re talking about… A herd of sheep?!” None of it makes any sense.

As soon as I say this, however, there’s a flicker in Troy’s eyes, a tiny spark of joy, as he grins back at me. “Nah… no sheep…” is the last thing I hear, before I’m knocked back by a hard blow against my temple.

The impact hits me so hard the world starts spinning for a second and I feel Troy topple me over to break free from underneath me.

He’s back on his feet in an instant, this time actually hurrying for the backdoor.

I force myself to regain my balance, immediately taking up the chase. I nearly trip over the plant pot that must be what Troy hurled at my head seconds ago.

Under normal circumstances – with Troy in full command of his mental faculties – I’m sure there would have been no way for me to corner him a second time, but unstable as he is after God knows how many days of being awake nonstop, he’s agitated and jittery, and that gives me an advantage over him, despite my head thudding with pain.

I grab a handful of his shirt just as he’s about to reach the backdoor and try to wrestle him to the ground a second time, but this time – without any real element of surprise – he manages to keep his balance, trying to fight me off, but as he turns around to face me, I push him against the wall, right next to the open door of the laundry kitchen, hands on his arms to keep him from breaking free.

“There’s a herd of the undead coming this way,” I spell out what’s been going on in my mind ever since he made his last remark, “and you did _nothing_ to stop it?!” I snarl at him, basically spitting the words in his face.

He doesn’t reply, just holds my eyes with that same crazy smile that’s been on his lips ever since he returned from the desert.

 _Holy shit…_ I think to myself, eyes widening as I suddenly realize the truth. He’s lost it. He’s totally lost it. This time for real.

_The shepherd needs to return to his herd._

“You freaking led them–“ I don’t manage to finish that sentence, as the implications of it make my stomach turn. “How long, Troy?” I growl at him. “How long until they arrive here?!”

“Depends on how soon you let me go,” he counters, as if that was actually an option. “They aren’t sheep, but they aren’t much smarter either. They stop moving as soon as I stop guiding them – that’s why I couldn’t even take a short break to sleep.”

“You’re insane,” is all I manage to whisper, face now entirely pale. “You wanna get us all killed?!”

He gives me a helpless shrug. “I’m just getting back what is rightfully ours.” Then an encouraging nod. “Trust me, Nicky, you’re gonna thank me for it one day.”

This time, he doesn’t get me unprepared. I let go of him and pull back as soon as I realized he was about to knee me in the groin. Instead, I clench my fist and punch him in the face.

He curses and loses his balance for a moment, but spins round as soon as I come after him. His fist connects with my temple once again, the same spot that already had the pleasure of making the plant pot’s acquaintance, so for a moment, my vision blurs behind a veil of foggy stars. He’s merciless in taking advantage of my moment of weakness, as immediately it’s me, the one being thrown against the wall.

In the end, however, that was his critical mistake. The bottom of my shoe connects with the cold wall in my back, providing the perfect lever. Pushing myself off the wall with all my strength, I manage to shove him off me, my hands connecting with his shoulders to push, push him back, until he stumbles into the laundry kitchen, tripping backwards over cleaning buckets, clothes baskets and tins of detergent.

For me, it’s just a tiny flick of the wrist, removing the key from inside, pulling the door shut and locking the door from outside.

Then silence, and a sigh.

The shepherd won’t return to his herd anytime soon. Not on my watch.

 

***

 

The adrenaline still high in my blood, I find myself weak and shaky as I remain alone in the corridor, realizing with dread and relief that any immediate danger hopefully has been averted for now.

And yet. I can’t manage to wrap my head around everything that just happen, everything Troy’s just said, everything he’s _done_.

Maybe it’s all just a nightmare. Another one of my guilt-induced, tormenting horror visions that usually get me to startle out of my sleep, drenched with sweat, heart pounding.

But no. This is different. This is real. The throbbing pain in my head is proof.

Suddenly all beat and tired, I let myself slide down with my back against the laundry kitchen door, until I’m sitting there on the floor, forehead resting against my knees.

And Troy starts raging.

He’s throwing himself against the door time and again in an attempt to break free, each try an unsettling throb in my back that sends a little jolt through my body. He’s hammering against the door with his fist, cursing my name with a veritable gust of the crudest cusswords one could come up with.

He must have found something to (mis)use as a hammer, as eventually he rages so badly, I’m  basically expecting him to break through the wall now anytime soon.

The outburst of fury lasts for about two minutes, then he must have exhausted his final energy reserves. I feel another thud against the door, this time however much softer, as if he was leaning against it as well, sliding down to sit there as my mirror image, us back to back, if it weren’t for the door.

“You done?” I ask eventually, once silence has settled over us.

There is no reply at first and I realize he’s startled to hear I’m still around. He must have assumed I’d left right after I’d turned the key.

“Nicky,” comes the reply, his voice now suddenly very, very tired. “Come on, let me out… The sheep need their shepherd, otherwise they’ll get lost…”

“Why would you _do_ something like that?” is the only thing I ask. “Why would you risk killing everyone living here? All the ranchers, the people you’ve grown up with. Coop. Jake. You’re actually willing to lose everything.”

“I already _have_ lost everything,” he replies after a while, voice now less shaky, but definitely darker. “My home, Madison, my brother… I have nothing to lose anymore.”

“In that order, I guess,” I murmur, suddenly frustrated.

“What?” He didn’t get that through the door.

“Nothing,” I whisper into the darkness. “Though for the record: You haven’t lost _everything_.” I don’t even know what prompted me to say it, but I do. Then I get up from the floor. And as if I could take a look at him through the door, I say over my shoulder: “You still got me.” A deep breath. “Not that I ever counted.”

With that, I turn around and leave my prisoner in the darkness and solitude of his makeshift prison cell.

 

I do return to the laundry room later, putting my ear against the door for a few minutes to listen, to make sure everything’s silent. He’s probably fast asleep, considering how sleep-depraved he was. Slowly, quietly, ready to be attacked at any second, I unlock the door, cursing the loud clicking sound that might have given me away. Opening the door slowly, I immediately spot him lying there curled up into a ball right in front of the door, breathing evenly, unaffected by my brief noise.

I can barely squeeze through the crack without the door touching him.

Then I drop him a cushion and a blanket, and set down two bottles of water next to him.

Dehydration can send you into some kind of frenzy. Or turn you into a living zombie. I remember that all too well. In the past, my grandma once drank too little, simply because she forgot about it (she was old). When we found her, she wasn’t even able to respond to our questions anymore and had gone into some kind of catatonic state. We brought her to the hospital and they gave her an infusion of pure water. After that, she went back to normal and everyone was happy again.

I hope it’s going to be as simple with Troy. I hope, once he’s slept and drank, he’ll come back to his senses. I hope then he can be reasoned with.

 

***

 

The next morning, I don’t even have to put my ear against the door to find out if Troy’s still asleep. There’s a clearly audible rustling going on inside and an even louder buzzing noise that sounds like… the washing machine running?!

I knock against the door. “Troy, you awake?”

The rustling immediately stops, then Troy’s voice can be heard through the door. “And so the dungeon master returns to check on his prisoner…”

“Don’t tell me you’re doing the laundry in there!” is all I reply, disbelieving.

“Well, it’s not like there’s much else to do,” he counters. “Besides, it’s good to change into a fresh set of clothes…”

Well, at least he sounds livelier than yesterday. Same effect the water had on my grandma. Which however also means I’ll have to be extra careful when letting him out…

I frown. “Uhm, you do realize the laundry in those baskets was still dirty?”

“Not compared to what I was wearing,” comes the reply.

No arguing that.

“It will do until my mission’s complete.”

And here I was, thinking he’d come back to his senses. “Jesus, Troy, cut the crap!” I counter. “There’s no mission! I won’t stand by doing nothing, and watch you raze our home to the ground.”

“It’s not really our home anymore,” Troy counters. “They took it from us – and now I’m gonna take it from them.”

I let out a hiss of frustration, pursing my lips as I growl: “So you’d rather have it destroyed than share it?” Shaking my head. “I once knew someone who had a really cool car, a Porsche. But instead of sharing it with his sister, he rather chose to wreck it.” And adding with a snort: “It was our little neighborhood boy – and he was _four years old_.”

For a short while, there’s silence on the other side of the door. Then Troy’s voice can be heard again. “We sacrificed so much to build this place. I’m not letting those assholes have it for free.”

I can’t help sighing. “I’d really hoped a few hours of sleep and two bottles of water would get your brain running again.”

“Oh, it’s running,” Troy replies nonchalantly. “I slept like a log – and I downed both bottles. Speaking of which. I really need to take a piss.”

“Why, it’s not like there’s a shortage of buckets in there,” I counter.

“Funny…”

“Whatcha gonna do once I let you out?” I ask then.

“Told you,” Troy replies. “Get back to my herd, naturally.”

That _idiot_ … We’re going in circles, round and around again… It’s tiring. So with the next question I ask him outright: “What can I do to keep you from it?”

A chuckle this time. “Well, you can help me reclaim what’s rightfully ours… Then of course there won’t be no need to destroy this place anymore…”

He meant it as a joke, convinced I would never agree. But the cogs in my head have started turning.

“Okay,” I say bluntly, and silence returns to the laundry kitchen.

“Okay?” he eventually repeats, sounding truly taken aback.

“Okay,” I repeat. Turning around, I push one of the heavy wooden dressers in front of the door, just to make sure he won’t be able to shove the door in my face as soon as I unlock it.

So once I turn the key, the door opens a little and in the small crack his face appears. He does look better than yesterday, still beat and with dark circles around his eyes, but at least his eyes seem a little sharper today and the look on his face isn’t that of a complete madman anymore. He grins at me quickly, amused by my words.

“Nice try,” he comments.

“I’m serious,” I counter. “I’d rather chase a few people off the ranch than lose it all together. The militia will back us. They’ve been planning something like this all along.”

Now that gets him to prick his ears. “The militia?!” The grin vanishes from his face. “Tsk, who would have guessed. So they aren’t just a bunch of spineless cowards after all! I’m impressed.” Then his eyes lock back to mine. “So you’re serious about this, huh? You’ll actually help me? Chase the Indians off our land?”

“I’ll help you,” I lie, nodding at him with earnest eyes. All I want is to keep him in line for now. “But no more destructive missions or leading any herds of undead to the ranch.”

There it is again, the smirk. “No more prisoners in the laundry kitchen.”

“Deal,” I reply, holding his eyes for a moment, then I push the dresser back and the door swings open wide.

To my relief – even though I’d subconsciously taken a defensive position – I’m not attacked. Instead, Troy just steps out of the room and looks at me contently.

“So what’s the plan?” he wants to know.

I wriggle my nose as we’re suddenly standing so close. “How about I get us some breakfast and you head upstairs to take a shower? Unless your plan is to chase the Indians away with that stench of yours…”

 

***

 

One thing I like about the Otto house is that the kitchen window’s facing east. Whenever the sky’s clear and blue outside, the room’s bathed in a wonderful golden glow in the mornings.

I enjoy having breakfast here, the pleasant scent of coffee filling the room, while the first beams of sunlight touch my skin through the window and outside the ranch slowly starts to wake from its nightly slumber.

Considering the circumstances, the joy I take from my sacred morning ritual naturally feels a bit dampened today, but nevertheless, I appreciate this moment to take a little breather and think. With all the crazy events of last night and this morning, it’s been tricky to keep a clear head.

If what Troy said is correct and the herd he’s gathered indeed doesn’t move unless stimulated, I guess at least in that regard there is no immediate danger to the ranch. At least not as long as he’s here with me. So I guess until I come up with a better plan, my first and foremost priority has to be to keep him here, keep him hidden from everyone else’s eyes and keep him from doing anything stupid. Maybe then there is a chance that this whole mess will be getting some sort of happy ending after all.

“For the record…” It’s Troy’s voice that reaches me all of a sudden, bringing me back to reality.

Apparently, he’s finished with his shower. I notice his hair is still slightly damp, but the clothes he’s wearing now are actually fresh, as he joins me by the kitchen table, letting himself drop on the chair opposite me, before tossing me a bunch of bandages and gauze pads. “You do count,” he says, looking at me, and as if to prove his point, he puts his hand on the table, clenched to a fist at first, then he opens it.

I wince as I stare down at it: It’s swollen, reddened, blue almost, a nasty looking injury in the middle of his palm. The sight shocks me so much, I think I’m done with my breakfast already.

“Got this thanks to you,” Troy informs me, then nods at the dressing material on my lap, “so you’re gonna help me with the bandages now. It’s hard fixing it one-handed.”

Wordlessly, I reach for the disinfectant spray, then take his hand into mine and apply a few puffs. The sterile smell mixes with the scent of the freshly brewed coffee. The movement of my hand is stiff and awkward, as a tight lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe.

 _Yeah, I remember. Of course._ His hand was injured when he deflected that knife coming at me the night of the shootout… But until now, I’d been convinced it had been nothing but a superficial cut. To think his hand was actually pierced…

I shudder as a shiver runs down my spine, then hastily press the gauze pad on it.

“What?” Troy asks, and I can feel his eyes on me. “Not too pretty, huh?”

“That’s not it,” I counter hastily. “I just don’t understand…” Shaking my head. “I mean…” Looking up at him and suddenly our eyes meet. “Why on earth would you do something so reckless?”

“Told you,” he replies with a shrug. “Because you count.”

For a moment, I’m unable to reply as I wrap the bandage around his hand, forcing myself to focus on my task, because I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes right now.

He’s crazy, he’s lost his mind in the desert – or possibly he’d already lost it way before that. He’s a twisted murderer, a cold-blooded killer.

And yet. In the past few weeks, he’s become my friend. And that friend had had his hand freaking _impaled_ by a blade just to keep me from harm.

In all my life, no one has ever done anything even _remotely_ comparable for me ever before. Never before did I have the impression I actually _counted_ as much to anyone. And now, Troy of all people should be that person?

It feels weird, and unlikely. And yet.

For the first time ever since he showed up at the house with that ominous oracle of his, I don’t just wanna _stop_ him anymore. I want to _help_ him.

“Done,” I whisper absent-mindedly, letting go of his hand.

“Thanks,” Troy replies, clenching his fist and opening it again a few times, to check my work. “Feels much better.”

“Also looks much better,” I reply, and luckily that little joke does help a lot to lighten the mood for me again.

Troy reaches for the coffee pot, filling his mug, then starts buttering a slice of toast.

“So here’s the plan,” he eventually informs me. “As soon as we’re done here, you head out to get Coop and the others. We’ll gather them here and discuss our next steps to chase those intruders off our land.” A rapt smile starts curving his lips and he lets out a sigh. “Oh, I can’t wait to kick their asses back to their wigwams…”

I automatically clear my throat. “Well, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’ll have to wait a little. Coop and the militia are... out with Mom and Walker to search for water.” It’s a spontaneous idea, but it may not be the worst. What impresses me even more in that moment, however, is how easily that lie passes my lips. I’m getting good at this. Maybe too good…

Troy looks at me for a while, then frowns skeptically. “The _entire_ militia?!”

I’m taking a huge bite off my own toast to cover my expression with extensive munching. “Yes.”

“Who’s protecting the ranch then?”

“Walker’s people.” I lie again. I swallow my bite, then look at him with an earnest face. “I’m sorry, Troy, but at the moment, we don’t have many allies here. I suggest we lay low for a few days, get back our strength, work on a plan. I’m sure they won’t be gone for too long. And as soon as they return…”

“Fine,” Troy says, to my surprise. “We’ll wait.”

 

***

 

 _Wait_ , of course, is a relative term. Naturally, it doesn’t take long until Troy starts roaming the house, getting impatient, itching for something to do, something to engage in, something to pass the time with while waiting for the big moment to happen.

Around eleven, I find him inspecting the damage caused by the shoot-out, the bullet holes and the cracked window panes, all the ways his own home had been harmed in his futile fight for the weapons.

Of course, Troy’s never been one to sit around much, doing nothing, so he’s quick to put his time to good use and start repairing the damage.

Whereas I generally approve of this (especially since him being busy will also give me more time to come up with a plan of my own), I’m soon forced to realize he might end up overdoing things if I don’t keep a close eye on him: Returning from a few chores in the afternoon, I’m shocked to spot him working on the front door, replacing the shattered glass panes, working calmly in (nearly) plain sight and (potentially) clearly visible to everyone who might have taken an accidental glance at the Otto house.

Of course, I’m quick to remind him of what’s going to happen if Crazy Dog spots him out here, how badly he will be compromising his own cause if he ends up being caught.

Naturally, a rather extensive discussion ensues (according to my suggestion eventually taking place inside instead of practically outside on the porch), after which he actually ends up displaying some kind of tentative understanding.

And I think the time has come for me to set some ground rules for our cute little residential community here: There will be no hammering, no drilling, no sawing nor any other noise producing activities whenever I am not at home. And while we’re at it: No lights or candles at night when I’m gone, no lurking around by the windows, no shutting or opening the blinds, no shutting, opening or tilting any windows with me gone and no exaggerated sneezing or coughing when I’m not around.

“But farting’s allowed?” he asks sarcastically. “Even with you gone?”

“Well,” I deadpan instantly, “if it’s not too loud…” Surprising myself with the quick-witted comeback.

We stare at each other for a few blinks, then I notice a tiny grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s impressed by my actually countering the joke instead of just shrugging it off. I scored points.

Chuckling quietly at the silliness of the exchange at first, we quickly find ourselves laughing like crazy, snorting and snickering until we’re both gasping for air – and hell, does that feel good. It’s been a while since the last time I laughed so hard I ended up wiping tears from my eyes. Actually, I can’t even remember it.

So eventually Troy moves on to fix the bullet holes in the walls upstairs instead, and for a few minutes I actually think we can make this work, when all of a sudden, the actual twist of the day ends up raining on my parade.

With Troy busy with his new task, I’ve just sat down in the living room, studying some of the plans of the ranch property in the hope of finding new clues on possible water sources, taking a relaxed drag from my cigarette, when all of a sudden, there’s a loud knock on the door.

Surprised, I get up from the couch and head to the foyer to open the door, just to find my sister standing there, face strangely stern and unreadable.

“Alicia,” I call her, not without a hint of worry. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to bother you, Nick,” she greets me, eyes not lighting up in any way.

“Not at all,” I shake my head hastily, inviting her inside to not draw any suspicion.

Of course, right at this moment, Troy _has_ to proceed to some hammering, two loud thuds resounding throughout the house.

“So nice for you to visit, Alicia,” I reply, speaking as loud as possible, praying Troy’ll hear me and get the clue.

“What was that noise?” Alicia wants to know, stopping in the corridor and turning around to look at me.

“Just the wind,” I tell her, stammering slightly to cover up how unconvinced I am myself about this sorry excuse. “A few of the doors were ajar and I guess the wind slammed them shut.”

Luckily, Troy must have indeed heard my warning. The noise has stopped.

“Is everything alright, Nick? You seem nervous.” Shooting me a skeptical look. “I didn’t catch you in the middle of anything… inappropriate, did I?”

“ _Inappropriate_?” I repeat, giving her an embarrassed laugh. “I never do anything inappropriate,” I tell her, cracking a grin to cover up my insecurity.

And right at that moment, Troy appears at the top of the stairs, in Alicia’s back, looking down at me with a questioning frown.

I wave my hand, beckoning him to hide.

Alicia stares at me wide-eyed.

“Fly,” I explain, chasing an invisible insect with sweeping gestures. And because I can’t help it: “Nasty fly snuck into the house last night and has been bugging me ever since…”

She frowns at me again, so I hastily change the subject.

“No need to worry,” I shrug. “What about you? What’s going on, Alicia? Whatcha doing here?”

Alicia immediately casts down her eyes and purses her lips as she lets out a sigh. “Jake and I had a huge fight this morning,” she tells me with a sad voice. “And I… I just can’t stand being around him for now.” Giving me a hopeful look. “I was hoping I could crash here for a few days…?”


	2. Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for all those kind and lovely comments! <3 It made me very happy to hear you enjoyed the story - and especially that Troy's characterization apparently felt somehow realistic in this context.  
> Of course, that naturally may have to change a little in this new chapter, since we wanna build a romance here - so we need a bit more tenderness this time.   
> I hope you'll still have fun reading on anyway! :)

“ _Bad_ ,” is the first thing I blurt out, as it seems like the one word that’s strangely fitting for everything: Bad idea, bad timing, bad luck.

Alicia however just stares at me with a skeptical look.

“Boyfriend,” is what I go with eventually, clearing my throat. “Jake’s a bad boyfriend,” I repeat, clarifying. “Treating my sister like this.” Whew. Not really sure this counts as me getting my act together last second. Probably not. But it’s the best I can come up with.

“I’m not sure,” she says eventually, casting her eyes down. “Maybe it’s just proof that Jake’s as much of an asshole as all the men in the Otto family.” She pauses, then shrugs. “And the women, too, probably.” Adding under her breath: “All the more reason not to become the next Mrs. Otto.”

I eye her for a quick moment, my temporary shock and anxiousness slowly but surely fading as I realize how much this is actually getting to her. She claimed she didn’t love Jake, and it was just a _thing_. But judging by the heartbroken look in her eyes…

“Why don’t you come?” I suggest, shooting her an encouraging smile. “And tell me what happened.”

Alicia nods, then closes the door before following me to the living room. We settle down on the couch, the rest of the house perfectly quiet.

“It doesn’t seem like the two of you to fight,” I point out eventually, silently offering her a cigarette. To my surprise, she accepts. “You always see eye to eye.”

“Not on the whole water issue,” she sights exhaustedly, lighting the cigarette. “Sometimes it feels as if Jake had given up on this place… But we gotta fight for it, don’t we? Till the bitter end. It’s all we have.”

I listen to her quietly.

“One word led to another,” she then reports, pursing her lips. “And eventually he accused us of having planned this from the very start… Getting close to the people living here, taking charge.” Eyes suddenly locking to mine. “He wanted to know if that had been the plan all along: Mom working Jeremiah, you bonding with Troy, and me… getting close to him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I snort immediately, shaking my head. “I’m sure he didn’t really mean that.”

“He better didn’t,” she whispers after a few seconds, then lets out a sigh. “Jerk.”

From the corner of my eyes, I suddenly get the impression there’s a shadow moving in the corridor – but I’m not sure if it wasn’t just my imagination. Troy wouldn’t take the risk being caught by her.

“What it is?” she wants to know all of a sudden, eyeing me.

I’m quick to shake my head. “Nothing.” The person who actually needs me now is my sister. So I focus my attention back on her.

The next few minutes, I try to reassure her, cheer her up the best I can. Even though in the back of my head, there’s something about what she just said that bothers me.

_Mom working Jeremiah, you bonding with Troy, and me… getting close to him._

To be honest, the matching feels strangely odd – cause after all, Mom’s never been that close to Otto. On the contrary. The one who actually started bonding with Jeremiah was me. At the same time, Troy’s been the one who forged this weird bond with Mom (may I quote his statement from last night in the laundry kitchen? “I’ve already lost everything. My home, Madison, my brother”… Doesn’t exactly mention me, does it?). In that regard, Jake matching Troy with me in his statement feels odd.

I wonder what even just gave him the idea in the first place.

 

We decide to cook dinner together. Mac and cheese, nothing too fancy. In the kitchen, however, Alicia’s eyes immediately spot the two plates and the two mugs from this morning’s breakfast still in the sink. Damn no one felt obliged to actually take care of doing the dishes yet…

Inwardly already struggling for an excuse (Ofelia came by for breakfast. Ah, better not. I wouldn’t want to give her any ideas. Coop then. Yeah, that’s better. Coop came by for breakfast. Weird, but better...), I’m surprised as Alicia just shakes her head at me. “Two days of not doing the dishes?” she teases. “While the cat’s away, the mice will play?”

“Sort of,” I end up faking a sheepish chuckle, whereas inwardly, I let out a huge sigh. _You have no idea._

 

***

 

Once we’ve eaten, Alicia suggests watching a movie and we end up with Hitchcock‘s “Witness for the Prosecution”, a DVD from Jake’s extensive collection of classics. With a blanket pulled up to her chin, Alicia has snuggled up to me, cozily leaning against my side as we lounge on the couch.

I have to admit, I’m actually enjoying this little moment of sibling time, even though a persistent worry keeps dampening that feeling. Throughout the entire movie, I can’t help but secretly keep an eye on the dark corridor, constantly expecting the shadow by the door to return or one of the floorboards to creak. But nothing happens. Except for us, the house lies in perfect silence.

It surprises me a little, to be honest, so during a few less important scenes, I use the opportunity to inform my sister of a short bathroom break I need to take.

In truth, however, I immediately hurry to the kitchen, hastily filling a plate with leftover mac and cheese, then quietly sneak upstairs to check on my secret roommate.

The second floor is all quiet, and I immediately head to his room. “Troy,” I call quietly, softly knocking against the door. As I push down the handle, I notice it’s locked.

Smart move. Cause regardless of the fact that Alicia would probably never enter Troy’s room willingly, in the worst case scenario I guess it would probably easier for me to come up with a reason on why that room is locked, then for Troy to come up with a reason on why he’s inside.

I hear footsteps, then the door is unlocked and opened.

“You gotta be kidding me,” is the first thing he growls at me, and the expression on his face makes it obvious he’s not amused. “First I’m a prisoner in my own house, now I’m stuck in a single room?!”

“It’s not my fault,” I counter hastily. “I didn’t exactly _ask_ her to move in... It was your brother who acted like a jerk around her.”

“Or maybe she acted like a bitch around him,” Troy counters, raising his eyebrows. And adding under his breath: “I wouldn’t be surprised. Like mother, like daughter.”

“Look, it is what it is,” I growl eventually, not really in the mood for a discussion like this. “I can’t help it.” Then, a bit more amicably, I add: “Just try to lay low for a while, okay? I’ll handle it.”

He looks at me for a long while, face dark and full of wariness. “Hmpf,” he eventually replies, then grabs the plate from my hands – and closes the door in my face.

I hear the key being turned in the lock once again, then I remain alone in the dark corridor.

Uhm… What the hell? Who am I? Your delivery boy?

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” I hiss eventually, before turning around and heading back down.

 

“That took a while,” Alicia can’t help commenting as I rejoin her by the TV.

“Excuse me!” I counter immediately, crossing my arms in a mock-huff. “I wasn’t aware I was racing against time.”

She doesn’t reply to that, but I can feel her eyes on me as I plop back down on the couch next to her. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks me eventually, voice soft and eyes filled with honest concern. “You’ve been acting weird all day.”

“Well, that’s me,” I shrug, shooting her my most carefree grin.

She doesn’t seem convinced.

“Everything’s fine, Alicia,” I reassure her with a soothing voice. “You make up with your boyfriend and Mom returns home with a tanker full of water, and I swear to God I don’t have a care in the world.”

“Hmmh…” She keeps holding my eyes for a while longer, then eventually turns back to the screen, resting her head on my shoulder in silent comfort.

 

***

 

The rest of the evening as well as the night go by without any major occurrences. The next morning, Alicia and I have breakfast in the kitchen. But in contrast to my hopes, she doesn’t make a move to leave anytime soon. Instead, she grabs one of her books, getting comfortable on the armchair in the living room.

I’m struggling to come up with an excuse to send her away, but… to be honest, I just can’t. She’s my sister and I wanna be there for her. Maybe it will just be another day, I think to myself. Troy can handle that.

Around 2 p.m., I have to get ready for my shift helping the others in our quest to dig a new well. It’s sort of my only occupation at the moment, as ever since the shootout and my punishment in the hot box, I am officially suspended from the militia.

I head to my room to change into a pair of worn-out jeans and an old T-shirt, when all of a sudden, there’s a knock on my door.

“Yeah?” I call, turning around, not really bothering about putting on my shirt first, since I’m practically expecting Alicia’s face to appear in the door anyway.

To my surprise, however, it’s Troy. He must have heard me on the stairs.

Startled at first, he stares at me.

“Are you mad leaving your room?!” I just hiss at him. “What if Alicia spots you in the corridor?!”

By now he’s regained his composure, closing the door behind him. “Alicia’s taking a shower,” he informs me quietly. “The water’s running.”

I let out a quiet breath, then look at him. “What’s going on?” I ask, a bit more empathically this time. “You seem… dejected.” It’s true. Slouching his shoulders, a gloomy look on his face…

He comes over to me, eyes desperate, voice almost pleading.

“Nicky, I’m _dying_ in there,” he complains. “There is _nothing_ to do at all! I spent the entire morning lying on my bed, listening to a freaking _audiobook_!”

“An audiobook?” I repeat, almost letting out a disbelieving snort. “You?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” he counters. “I’m not even allowed to cough or sneeze. I guess I should already be grateful I’m still allowed to _breathe_.” He’s about to get worked up in his anger, that’s obvious, even though something seems to keep distracting him at the same time. He pauses, then frowns. “I’m sorry, but could you please put on some clothes?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about. “Why?” I counter, now suddenly unable to hold back a quick laughter anymore. “Does that make you uncomfortable?” I tease.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem in the mood for jokes. “I’d just prefer to have an ordinary conversation between grown-ups.”

I find myself laughing again. “Does that leave any doubts I’m not grown up yet?” I smirk, presenting myself with a big gesture.

He just grunts and looks away.

“Oh, Troy,” I sigh eventually, grabbing the shirt on my bed. “You’re so uptight.”

A few seconds later, I turn to him, now fully dressed. “Better?”

He’s crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m just saying I want her gone.”

I decide to ignore his words and instead try to take the focus off my sister. “So, which audiobook are you listening to?” I ask, seemingly out of the blue.

“I uhm…” he frowns, totally taken aback by this sudden change of subject. “No idea...”

“No idea?” I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve just spent the past hours listening to it and don’t even know what it is?”

He twitches his nose a little, then looks away. “It may be Dan Brown,” he confesses sheepishly.

“Oh, I binge-read Angels and Demons,” I inform him bluntly.

“For real?” He stops at that, turning his eyes back to me. “Me too!” Suddenly, his face lights up as he shoots me a surprised smile. “I mean, yeah, sure, I’m aware not all of those deductions are perfectly valid,” he shrugs, “but I have a thing for deciphering secret codes. And it’s good fun to read.”

“Exactly!” I nod. “No one is questioning James Bond’s action scenes, right? It’s _entertainment_ , for Christ’s sake.”

“Absolutely!” Troy snickers. “Well, I guess it’s a guilty pleasure. But I’ve sort of always loved hidden messages and secret hints.”

“Me too,” I smile. “I’ve read all the books: The Da Vinci Code, the Lost Symbol… Which one are you reading – listening to at the moment?

“ _Inferno_ , the latest one.”

“Oh, cool, haven’t gotten around to reading that yet,” I tell him. “It’s the one about the virus, no?”

“Well,” he shrugs, “the big bad wants to extinguish half of the human population to save the world from overpopulation. If he doesn’t succeed, the whole planet will perish. So it’s sort of a moral dilemma.” And he can’t help adding with a grin: “I’m rooting for the villain.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I counter with a chuckle. “Well, turns out God rooted for the villain as well, considering we got our real-life Inferno right in our front yard...”

“True,” he agrees, pursing his lips.

“But it does sound cool,” I insist. “You’ll have to lend it to me once you’re done…”

“Sure,” he nods. “If things go on like that, I’ll be done with it in a day anyway.”

I’m just about to open my mouth to counter his sarcasm, when all of a sudden, there’s a knock on my door.

“Nick?” Alicia’s voice.

Immediately, Troy and I wince, exchanging looks of panic.

The door handle is pushed down.

“Just a sec!” I yell immediately. “I’m changing.”

The handle goes back up. “Sorry.”

Troy raises his arms helplessly, but not without a hint of reproach in his eyes. _Told you to send her away._

“Get in the closet,” I hiss, digging my hands into his back, pushing.

“What?!” he counters, but I don’t have time for this. It’s the only hiding place big enough. I open the wardrobe, shoving him inside.

Then turn around, just as Alicia opens the door. I shoot her a forced grin, stealthily kicking the door shut with my foot.

“Just getting ready for the well-digging,” I inform her innocently, pointing at the worn-out jeans.

“Oh, you, too?” she looks at me. “I was just about to head there as well, wanted to let you know. But I guess in this case we can go together.”

“Yeah,” I nod enthusiastically, “yeah, we can.” Then my grin turns into a frown. “Even though… I have to check for some tools first, so I guess it would be best if you went ahead without me.”

There it is again, the suspicious look. But she doesn’t dwell on it. “Okay…” she agrees eventually. “Then… I guess I’ll see you there.”

“In a minute,” I assure her, then subtly give her a hint by waving her goodbye.

She shoots me one last long, inquisitive look – me, unsuspiciously guarding the wardrobe from her eyes.

For a moment, she opens her mouth, then just closes it again. “Okay. I’ll see you there,” she concludes, then turns around and heads down the stairs.

Whew! That was close! I don’t even wanna think of what would have happened if she’d barged in on Troy and me…

Not really trusting her, though, I step over to the window, making sure she’s actually gone, before turning back to the wardrobe.

“You can come out now,” I inform him, childishly snickering at the double entendre.

Troy Otto hiding in my closet – the highlight of my life!

He eventually climbs out, but the sour face he’s wearing makes it obvious he doesn’t share my amusement over that joke in the slightest.

Bummer. I’d actually expected a smirk or at least a snarky remark in return, just to eventually go all high-five to celebrate this moment of incredible badassness, us reacting so quickly in the face of impendent danger.

Troy, however, doesn’t seem to be in the mood to celebrate at all. Face grim, he pushes past me without even looking at me. “Get rid of her,” he barks, before hurrying out of my room. “Sister or not, I want her _gone_.”

 

***

 

But turns out, Troy’s wish might actually be fulfilled even without me meddling. During our little session of well-digging, Alicia ran into Jake. And whereas the resentment between them was more than obvious, he eventually asked her for a heart-to-heart afterwards, and she agreed.

“You sure you wanna do this?” I asked her with a worried look, but Alicia seemed determined.

“Hell yeah,” she replied with a growl. “I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind, you can bet on it.”

“Surprisingly”, Alicia didn’t return to the Otto house that night. I spent all evening by myself, waiting for the sound of the door being unlocked, until I eventually called it a day and went to bed.

Now, it’s the next morning and I notice with a chuckle her bed is untouched. Apparently, a piece of her mind is not the only thing she gave him…

Immediately turning to Troy’s room, I knock. “Morning, Dan Brown,” I call. “You awake? The airs clear’s now. You’re let out on parole.”

A few seconds pass, then eventually he opens the door. He’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair a literal mess, so I assume I actually did wake him. “Why? What’s going on?” he asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Alicia spent the night at an external location,” I say, wriggling my eyebrows.

“Huh?” he counters.

I wrap my arms around my chest, puckering my lips. “Make up sex,” I spell it out, as he still doesn’t seem to get it.

“Yikes,” is all he replies to that.

I give him a quick shrug. “Good for them – good for us. Now get your ass downstairs, coffee’s ready. And I wanna change the bandage.”

 

***

 

The following days, with just him and me in the house again, go by with a strange and unexpected shift in our dynamics.

In the beginning, Troy went back to his home improvement or spent time in his room scribbling in his notebooks. The longer our little housing community lasted, however, the more he actively started to seek my company.

It’s actually not that much of a surprise. With him hiding in the house, I’m basically the only person he can interact with, as if I was the last person in the entire world for him.

Sure, we’ve been living in this house together for a while now, way before the shootout, but ever since Mom left, I get the feeling that for the first time, he’s actually started to see me as a person of my own.

Now, I’m the one – and the only one – in the center of his attention, and hell, I can’t say I dislike it. In fact, it feels pretty nice.

I often find him waiting for me when I get home from one of my chores, waiting for me to have dinner or joining me in the living room in the evenings instead of just retreating to his own.

It may even be a mutual thing, as keeping this secret from everyone, stealing supplies to feed another person, hurrying home to check on Troy also makes my world revolve around him – and judging by the way he sometimes looks at me, I’m starting to get the impression to him this is just as pleasant a feeling as it is to me. I guess neither one of us has ever felt as important to someone else ever before.

So one evening, Troy even suggests we could listen to Inferno together. He’d be okay starting over – in fact, he’d be looking forward to it, since it would give him the chance to pay closer attention to some of the details, now that he already knows of their relevance.

Not sure how that would work at first, I agree anyway. And it’s surprisingly fun. The book as much as the listening.

Not even half an hour later, we find ourselves on the couch, Troy lying there stretched out, while I’ve sat down on the soft carpet next to him, my back resting against the sofa, legs pulled to my chest. We’re connected by the cable of the earphones, sharing plugs like a pair of teenagers on the school bus. It’s weird. But also strangely intimate.

Eventually, as I shift a little to get more comfortable, my gaze involuntarily comes to rest on his face – and for a moment, I can’t help but stare. He’s lying there with his eyes closed, breathing evenly, listening to the voice on the earphones. I never had a chance to look at him that closely before – and frankly, even if I had, I wouldn’t have cared. Now, after those past days of living together, I may not be so indifferent anymore.

He sure is handsome, you can’t deny it. The perfect shape of his face, the dark eyebrows, the roguish beard. And he can be pretty affable – at least when he’s not killing people for any of his sick experiments or leading hordes of dead people towards our home.

It’s weird. Seeing him listen to the audiobook so peacefully or thinking of his smile when he opens the door to greet me, it feels like there are actually two sides of him, like two different people.

And it reminds me of myself. The crazy junkie who would sell his own grandmother to get his next fix, and the me I am today, the me I wanna be. I’ve always wondered whether it’s possible for one side to gain the upper hand and eventually maybe even extinguish the other side altogether.

I wanna think that’s what’s happening with me. I wanna think that’s possible for him as well.

“I’m not asleep.” Troy says suddenly, and as my gaze focuses back on him, I realize he’s looking at me, a soft smile curving his lips. It’s a dashing one – and for a moment, my heart might even have skipped a beat.

And as if to prove his point, he hastily starts retelling the most recent events of the story: “The hidden letters on the painting reveal a secret message. Cerca trova. _Seek and you shall find_.”

“Yeah, seek and you shall find,” I repeat, returning the smile a bit absentmindedly.

I wonder… Is it possible to find if you haven’t even been seeking at all…?

 

***

 

And so the days go by – and without either one of us noticing, the zombie herd, the Indians, the conflicts – all of that gradually starts fading into the back of our minds, feeling more and more like some distant nightmare, a faraway issue that may concern a bunch of people outside our house, but not really us, save and sound inside.

It’s almost as if we had created a world of our own, consisting only of the two of us within these four walls. Where all that matters is us.

I’m aware it won’t last. And yet. Even though it may sound weird and strange, at the bottom of my heart I’m enjoying our life together, more than I might actually be willing to admit. In just this short time, things have significantly changed for the both of us. It’s as if we both had found something we’ve always been looking for. Even though we hadn’t been aware of it at all.

_Cerca trova. Seek and you shall find._

And just like that, I find myself dreading the day Mom and Walker will return.

I know it’s a horrible thing to say. Cause of _course_ , I’m worried like crazy for her, and I want her to get back home safe and sound – and successful, with a truckload full of fresh water.

But at the same time, I know as soon as she’ll return, everything will change. This tender, everyday harmony that has developed between Troy and me will be disrupted, and things at the Otto house will most likely go back to the way they used to be before Mom left on that mission, before Troy was banished, before the shootout.

Which means: Dinner together, and after that, everyone taking refuge in their rooms, to spend the evening on their own, alone and in silence.

And that’s not even the worst part: Once Mom and Walker return, there will be no excuse for me to not gather the militia, as Troy has always wanted me to. And God knows what kind of disaster may unfold then.

I’ll be forced to take sides, a decision I’m not sure I’ll be able to make anymore. Before our days together, the choice would have been simple. Now, I sometimes even catch myself _actually_ considering supporting him. Not because I’ve turned into a racist myself and want the Indians gone as much as him. But truth is: I’d rather chase off a bunch of anonymous people than… lose Troy.

Of course, no one can say what the future might bring. So whatever this is, better enjoy it as long as it lasts.

 

***

 

The next evening, at dinner, we talk about deciphering codes some more and all of a sudden we end up remembering a board game that used to be super popular in the 90s: Mastermind. People used to be crazy about it. One of the players, the code master, would come up with a code consisting of four colorful pegs. The other player, the code breaker, tries to guess it, receiving hints from the code master on each of the guesses, in the form of smaller, red and white colored pegs.

“I absolutely loved that,” I insist, then add a bit more sheepishly: “At least until Alicia grew older and started kicking my ass!”

“Jake used to let me win,” Troy reminisces, “and God, I hated it…”

I can’t help chuckling, trying to picture the kids playing and the younger one pouting.

“Come to think of it,” Troy says eventually, “I don’t recall us ever throwing it away. We might still have it, somewhere upstairs in the attic.” Eyes darting suggestively to me, a raised eyebrow. “You ready for a challenge?”

I return the look with a smirk. “I certainly won’t let you win.”

“Oh, I certainly won’t need you to,” Troy replies with a snort. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to kick your ass anyway.”

 

Turns out, we’re kind of an equal match when it comes to the game. Hunched over the Mastermind board on the kitchen table for the past two and a half hours or so, Troy’s just in the middle of cracking the next code I’ve come up for him: Blue, blue, blank, red.

I would have completely forgotten about the time, if it weren’t for Alicia’s announcement that she’d quickly drop by around nine, to bring me some more plans on the property Jake has dug up. So better stay ready to hide anytime.

“I’m running out of pegs here,” Troy informs me as he’s just about to make his next guess, so I take a handful of them from the box, but as I’m dropping them in his hand, my fingertips accidentally end up stroking over his palm, a sudden, unexpected touch, but it sends a shiver down my spine.

He looks up at me, eyes locking to mine, a strange, questioning gaze.

Suddenly panicking for no reason at all, I break the eye contact, focusing back on the game.

Jesus Christ, what the hell _was_ that just now?!

Apparently, the touch didn’t leave him cold either, as he’s suddenly very keen on reaching for his coffee mug. But as bad luck would have it, his sleeve accidentally end up brushing over the game box, shoving it off the table and sending it to the floor, all the colorful pegs chaotically spilling over the carpet and the kitchen tiles – a symphony of crackling and clinking.

“Crap!” he curses with a growl, slamming the mug back down on the table in frustration.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I try to calm him immediately. “We’ll pick them up again.”

So not even five seconds later, we’re both crawling around on the kitchen floor picking up peg after peg – and they’ve literally spread everywhere. It’s especially hard to find them on the well-trodden carpet, me basically brushing over it with my hand blindly to search for more pegs.

Troy’s grown suspiciously quiet and I know this is a safe sign he’s annoyed.

So I try to crack a grin to lighten the mood. “Admit it,” I tease merrily, as I crawl under the kitchen table to pick up the pegs down there. “You just want to distract from the fact that you can’t crack my code!”

Apparently, my mission has been successful. “Oh, you wish,” he immediately counters with a superior snort. “I just wanted to extend your grace period!”

I can’t help laughing at that and all of a sudden, the weirdness of the moment before is gone again.

Dropping another handful of pegs back into the box, my laughing however stops abruptly as I shift with an imprudent movement and end up hitting my head against the tabletop with a dull thud. “Bloody hell,” I snarl. “I keep forgetting I’m not ten years old anymore…”

“Well, weren’t you the one who reminded me how perfectly grown up you already were, when you,” he hastily clears his throat, just to finish the sentence with a murmur, “didn’t have your shirt on.”

Still rubbing my head, I can’t hold back my grin anymore. “I did, didn’t I…” I find it strangely charming, the way he cleared his throat before mentioning that incident. To think he even remembers…

Troy’s by now halfway underneath the kitchen table as well, decidedly focused on picking up more pegs.

I’m just in the middle of dropping another handful back into the box, when for whatever reason I let my hand linger over the box some more – so when Troy blindly reaches back to let his pegs drop into the box as well, his hand brushes against mine once again.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, then quickly pulls his hand back.

And yet. As our eyes meet, I notice him hold his breath.

It’s a strange atmosphere, down here under the kitchen table. The warm light of the lamp doesn’t reach us, but is reflected by our surroundings nevertheless, creating a mysterious, somehow pleasant semi-darkness.

We’re so close down here, cramped underneath the kitchen table, and it’s a strangely cozy feeling. I can feel the warmth of his body radiating against mine. I can hear his breaths, soft and shallow, and almost the beating of his heart. No, that must be my own.

Whatever it is I’m feeling right in this very moment, Troy must be feeling it too. Cause from one moment to the next, the look on his face grows strangely unreadable.

The dusky twilight that does reach us down here is reflected in his eyes, and I can’t help gazing into them, losing myself in them. They’re blue like the ocean, I notice, and hell, it’s fitting. The ocean can be a beautiful paradise – or a merciless force of nature.

I feel my heartrate speeding up the longer the moment lasts, the warm air prickling around us. The cozy space underneath the table feels like a shelter and a hideout, keeping us safe from the world and everyone’s eyes.

And I lean in to him.

It’s just a quick peck, and I’m drawing back in shock as soon as I realize what I’ve just done. And yet, his lips against mine felt like the most intoxicating sensation I’ve experienced in a long while.

Troy stares back at me with unreadable eyes, the dimmed light of the kitchen still making them shine in a mesmerizing way. The gaze we share ends up a silent conversation, and it’s clear there’s not the slightest hint of regret in either one’s eyes.

It’s not me closing the distance again, nor is it him. It’s both of us. Our lips find the other one’s again almost naturally, longingly, hungrily, as if that moment had been bound to happen all along.

His lips are warm and soft, brushing over mine, and I let myself indulge in all those unexpected feelings I’m experiencing all at the same time. Surprise, panic, longing, lust. I have no idea what to make of this, but I’m determined to taste every single drop.

Troy’s underlying reluctance starts blending into a strange mixture of anxiousness and longing. He tries to be gentle, I can feel it, but it’s as if this storm that’s breaking free inside of him doesn’t even give him a choice. He kisses me back impetuously, greedily almost, as my hand blindly finds his cheek, cupping it, his fingers running through my hair.

“Nick…” he whispers against my kiss, more pleading than demanding, and I give his lips a gentle bite to hush him.

I can feel him shift his weigh on his knees, suddenly pushing me back, deeper down into the darkness of the narrow sanctuary created by the table above us and the wall in our backs.

I let myself lean against the wall, arms wrapping around him to pull him with me, enjoying the sensation of his body, strong and heavy, leaning against mine. Intensifying the kiss, I feel my head slowly but surely get a little dizzy, my hand digging into his shirt, grasping a handful of fabric, and just like that…

A knock on the door.

The noise immediately jerks us both back to reality in the most unpleasant way.

“Fuck, Alicia!” I hiss. _Worst timing ever!!_

“Leave her,” Troy insists, lips already back on my cheek, teasingly trailing over my skin.

I turn away. “She might have Jake’s key.”

At that, Troy lets out a frustrated groan, but he knows I’m right. Pulling back, he sits back up – _thud_! And this time it’s his head hitting the tabletop.

No matter my current annoyance and displeasure, I can’t help chuckling at that – and as he looks back at me, rubbing his head just like I did minutes ago, he ends up joining in with a quiet laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

“Stay right where you are,” I tell him with a fond smile, and it seems to be true in various ways. For him to stay hidden down here as well as for us to take things back up right where we stopped.

 

Awkwardly, I crawl out from underneath the table, an unpleasant mixture of bright light and cool air engulfing me once I get back on my feet. I take a deep breath to calm myself, quickly brushing back my hair with my fingers, then head for the door.

“Evening, Clark,” a bulky figure greets me as soon as I open. With utter confusion, I stare at the man. This isn’t Alicia! Maybe it’s my mind still being foggy from the unexpected turn of events just seconds ago, but it takes me a few blinks to process.

Coop.

“Your sister wanted to bring you these, but I was just on my way, so I offered to drop them.”

My mind’s still strangely blank as I accept the documents from him. “Thanks,” I reply in a monotonous voice.

“Enjoy your evening,” Coop turns around with a smile, then waves leisurely as he clomps down the steps of the porch, heading back towards the ranch.

Slowly, I close the door behind him, turning around.

Eyes locking on the slender figure in the kitchen doorframe.

I’ve never seen a look that dark on Troy’s face ever before.

“Coop,” is all he says, voice nothing but a menacing growl.

“I can explain,” I reply hastily, but in comparison, my voice comes out like the squeaking of a mouse.

“He’s been here all along?” Troy goes on, eyes flickering with reproach. “The entire militia’s here as well?!” His voice gradually rises.

Involuntarily, I take a step back. “I didn’t mean to lie…”

“You kept me here!” he barks at me, “all those days!! Like your freaking little pet!! While all along we could have grabbed our guns and chased those fucking assholes off our land!!”

“Troy, I…” I counter, suddenly feeling strangely light-headed. My stomach turns with pain.

Troy’s eyes are furious, his face a grimace of anger and disdain. “Who do you think I am?! Someone you can mess with, huh? Someone you can screw over all the way you like?!” He’s clenched his fist now, knuckles showing white. “I swear to you, you’re gonna regret that, Clark!”

“I lied to you because I’ve fallen in love with you!!“ I burst out all of a sudden, breathing hard as I look back at him with my eyes wide open.

For a few seconds, the corridor around us grows silent.

Then I go on, softer. “Those past days, they’ve… they’ve been the best days of my life.” I hear my own words as if they came from a stranger. “I wanna be with you! But I can’t if you’re banished or dead or this place is destroyed and our future gone.”

My voice fades and the words linger in the air around us for a few moments.

And Troy stares at me bitterly.

“Fuck you, Nick Clark,” is all he says in the end, as if he hadn’t even heard my heartfelt confession. Then he turns around. “You played me like a fool.”


	3. Something to Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone, it's been a while - so sorry for taking so long to finish the finale!  
> But truth be told, today's happy news gave me an incredible motivation boost and I finished the chapter in one go!  
> Troy's going to be back on the show, our prayers have been answered :)  
> Thank you so much to everyone leaving kudos and all those nice comments on the previous chapters!  
> Here we go with the finale. Hope it won't disappoint!  
> Please enjoy and celebrate this happy day :)

_Fuck you, Nick Clark. You played me like a fool._

Yeah, fuck _you_ , Troy Otto. It’s not like I was trying to protect you from your own stupidity or anything. It’s not like if it weren’t for me, this entire place would already be razed to the ground by now, the only ones left roaming the ruins the groaning, rotting dead bodies of – oh right, _all of us_. Including you, by the way. Would have been one hell of a sight for Mom and Walker to return to. With the ranch destroyed, they could have shoved their hard-earned water up their asses.

Yes, I’m angry and bitter as I sit here on the sofa, taking yet another drag from my cigarette, but truth be told: Anger isn’t the _only_ thing I’m feeling right now. There’s a whole bunch of different emotions stirring inside of me, one minute getting me to clench my fists in frustration, the next filling my eyes with tears.

Yeah, he’s done wrong by me, lashing out at me like that, but if I’m being entirely honest, the hurt runs much deeper than a bit of injured pride. I hadn’t lied when I’d admitted my feelings to him. Those past few days had been a wonderful time, the simple, easy closeness between us an unexpected gift in a crazy world. A golden ray of sunshine in the endless storm of the apocalypse.

To think that whatever it was between us is now over and done, cut off like a critical flow of air, the blissful feeling of familiarity irretrievably lost, our future over before it even started… And damn it, I still feel his lips on mine.

I know it’s selfish to sit around moping, pitying myself like that – when I rather should be concerned about everyone else. Now that the cover has been blown, there’s no telling what Troy’s gonna do. He knows Coop and the militia are actually around, waiting for him. For all I know, he could already be in the middle of loading his gun, heading out into the darkness at any second – and this once so beautiful night would end in blood.

The thought gives me a sting in the heart – as it’s done so many times ever since he rushed up the stairs, leaving me behind in the cold and empty corridor, shocked, dejected, heartbroken.

A tiny bit of hot ash drops from my cigarette onto my jeans. It hurts, even through the fabric.

Jesus Christ, pull yourself together, Nick. This isn’t just about you! This is about all of us, and _everyone’s_ future. You locked him up in the laundry kitchen to keep him from destroying this place. Hell, you even made up that little lie _exactly_ for that very reason! If you give up now, you could have well just let him lead that horde of his all the way through our gates.

Stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray, I suddenly find myself on my feet, and the next thing I know, I’m already hurrying over to the corridor and up the stairs.

In front of his room, I stop. Clenching my fist. Then I knock.

“Troy.” My voice comes out deep, stronger and more confident than I expected.

There is no reply.

“Troy,” I repeat, knocking again. “I know you’re in there. At least let me explain.” I try the handle – and to my surprise, it’s unlocked.

The door swings open with a familiar creaking sound and I find him sitting by the desk. He’s turned around on his chair to face the door, gaze however firmly locked on the item in his hands.

The room is plunged in absolute darkness, the only light coming from the small desk lamp, a bright spot on the wooden desktop, that can hardly penetrate the all-consuming blackness. And yet. It’s enough to make the metal in Troy’s lap glisten.

A gun.

Slowly, carefully, he tosses it from one hand to the other, back and forth, back and forth, as if it were nothing but a harmless pebble you absentmindedly play around with when you’re bored.

I find myself holding my breath. The severity and danger of the situation only truly hitting me now, as I spot him sitting there like this, half of his face overexposed by the light, the other half in total blackness, and the deadly weapon in his hands.

_Jesus Christ._

“How am I supposed to trust anyone if I can’t even trust you?” He’s the one breaking the silence, though he’s not looking up at me as he says it. In contrast to the rage and anger he exposed before, his voice is calm now, quiet even. I wouldn’t take that for an all-clear signal, though.

“You can trust me!” I find myself insisting. “What I said was the truth.”

“You lied to me about Coop.” Sharp eyes meet mine, and for a second, I wince at the harsh reproach directed at me.

I force myself not to let it show. “If I hadn’t, you would have started a massacre. I made up that lie to prevent that, so fucking sue me!”

“You said you were on my side on this!” he raises his voice in return, frown intensifying. “You let me believe you’d actually help me liberate our home!”

“ _Liberate_?!” I repeat, suddenly speechless. “Jesus, Troy, what kind of world are you living in? What is this to you, huh? Some kind of hostile occupation?! We _invited_ them in!”

He doesn’t even react to that, but goes on unfazed. “You let me believe you were my friend!”

“I _am_ your friend!” I yell at him. “But being a friend isn’t just about telling someone what they _want_ to hear. It’s about telling them what they _have_ to hear!”

“Oh _riiight_ ,” he counters, voice now brimming with sarcasm. “So keeping me locked up in here like a funny little pet is your way of expressing friendship.”

“I didn’t keep you in here like a pet,” I snort, suddenly sick of defending myself. “I was trying to stall,” I tell him outright, not caring about pretense anymore, “at least until I come up with a plan that doesn’t end up in… well, everyone dying!” I’m basically hurling this at him by now. Why won’t he just open his eyes?! Why doesn’t he understand?! “But then…” Another thought hits me, and from one second to the next, all my aggression’s washed away. Softly, almost regretfully, I go on: “But then, somehow… I started to enjoy it…”

“Started to enjoy playing me like a fool,” he completes the sentence, obviously _choosing_ to misunderstand.

I shoot him a sharp look, holding his eyes with determination. “Started to enjoy finding just a little bit of happiness, even despite the freaking world has ended!” I spell it out with a breathless growl, then softer I add: “With you, here in this house.”

He looks back at me with an unreadable expression, as those words fade into the silence around us.

“This house has been my sanctuary for the past days,” I whisper, suddenly soft, amicable, pleading almost, and I find myself crossing the distance between us. Once I’ve reached him, I crouch down in front of him, not breaking eye contact, not even for a second.

Slowly, carefully, I reach for his hands, fingers brushing over his skin. “Ever since the world has gone to shit, my life has been nothing but running, fighting, suffering…” I murmur, pursing my lips at the memories. “But those past few days with you… I felt like I had a normal life. I was _happy_ ,” I whisper. “I didn’t feel alone…”

My fingers have wrapped around the gun by now, and to my surprise as much as to my relief, he doesn’t resist as I take it from his hands.

I get up from the floor, and a sudden shiver runs down my spine as I notice with shock the safety catch has actually been released. I don’t waste a second to secure it again, then open a random drawer of the desk and shove it inside. Not the safest place to hide a gun, I’m aware. But right at that moment, all I care about is making sure it’s not within the reach of a single, impetuous grasp.

Troy’s eyes haven’t even followed the gun. He’s still sitting there on his chair, the look in his eyes suddenly very tired, crestfallen, almost.

“I didn’t feel alone either,” I hear him whisper, a faint remark, like a ghostly breeze. For a second, he blinks, as if waking from a dream. Then his eyes dart to me, and slowly, carefully, he gets up from his chair. “For the first time in all my life.”

Silence has settled over the room, and for a while, he just gazes at me, those deep blue eyes full of inner conflict and turmoil, defiant and at the same time utterly defeated.

I let out a heavy breath, a quiet sound in the darkness. In a way, those words were all I’ve been waiting for. Voice deep, my resolve just as shaky, I hiss: “Then why the hell are we fighting?”

And I’m with him in just three determined steps, my hands connecting with his shoulders, throwing him against the wall.

He’s surprised by my sudden action, shocked maybe even, but I don’t care. I hold his eyes firmly, then, pleadingly, imploringly, I whisper: “Screw the _goddamn_ world around us.”

And with that, I lean in to him, press my lips against his, desperately, passionately, struggling to relight the fire of those wonderful moments we shared earlier, before everything went to shit, before an unexpected visitor drove a wedge between us, cutting off the blade that had been dangling over us like a scornful demon all along, jerking us back into a cruel, harsh reality. A reality of lies, conflict and death. I want to go back to our little sacred world, where the only thing that mattered was him and me, each other’s company, stealth looks, soft smiles.

I don’t want to awake from that dream. Not yet.

I pull back eventually, opening my eyes again and looking at him, but the gaze in his eyes is hard to read. It’s a different game of deciphering codes. Is he feeling the same as me? Can this bond between us really overcome our differences?

For a long while, he holds my eyes like that, then I open my mouth.

“Troy,” I say, about to start with another round of explanations and pleads, when all of a sudden, he grabs my shoulders firmly and before I even realize what’s going on, he’s caught my lips in a fervent kiss, bold and daring, and whatever I may have felt before, all the worries, doubts and fears are swept away in an instant, and all that matters is him.

And so our little world, which had consisted of nothing but this house, shrinks down once more, to a single room.

I return the kiss passionately, feeling a wave of blissfulness and excitement surge through my entire body as I wrap my arms around him to pull him closer, hands trailing up his neck, fingers entangling in the messy brown hair.

I let myself be pushed back against the wall myself now, indulging in this feeling of being all that matters to him in return – the essence of what’s been drawing us close all those past days, a smaller, more intimate version.

Without hesitation, I reach forward, grabbing a handful of his flannel shirt. I have no idea whether he’s actually willing to go there, but I sure as hell am. Taking a hot breath against his lips, I wait for a sign, anything, to let me know we’re on the same page.

And I don’t have to wait for it long. My heart almost skips a beat with joy as he goes along with my gesture, moving his shoulders so I can slip the shirt off him.

He must feel my sudden grin against his lips at the prospect of what’s about to happen, and I actually feel a breathless chuckle in return. I let go of him for a second to grab my own shirt, pull it over my head and let it drop to the floor.

For a moment I spot him gazing at me, eyes trailing over my skin, my body, once weak and sick and scrawny, when now there’s more to it than just the ugly tap marks. During the past months, I’ve grown stronger, more muscular thanks to the endless fighting, the training, the surviving.

I reach for the back of his head and bring our lips back together, and reluctantly, slowly, as if he felt it was forbidden to touch, his hand comes to rest on the bare skin of my side.

His skin on mine sends a shiver down my spine and I catch myself sucking in a sharp breath, as I let my head drop back against the wall, closing my eyes to just enjoy the sensation. A second hand joins the first one, slowly, savoring, running over my body, my abs, my chest, my shoulder. I feel the bandage at his other hand and it stirs something inside me.

_For the record, you do count._

I can’t help suppressing a short-breathed gasp. God, it feels good to be touched like this again, no matter the one doing it being the most unlikely person I’d ever expected. Have I seen that coming? Two weeks ago? Certainly not. Two days ago? Nope. But truth be told, I’d started to hope for it.

I lock our lips together in another kiss, then reward him with a teasing bite, before helping him with his T-shirt. He’s gorgeous indeed, as was to be expected from a boy spending all his life working on a farm (not that I actually thought about that before (much)), but hell, I’m gonna enjoy this.

His skin is flawless, just the occasional beauty mark here and there, but on his left upper arm I spot a strange array of round scars, looking like old burn marks, inflicted by… a lit cigarette? I refuse to follow that chain of thought and I don’t ask any questions, just let my hand stroke over it, gently, soothingly, letting my lips trail over the blemish. I feel his arms wrap around me in response, pulling me close, locking us in a tight embrace, and for a moment I lose myself in the feeling of his warmth against me.

Slowly but surely, my instincts take over and I start to move, pushing him backwards, towards the bed. He goes along with it without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Wordlessly, we get rid of our pants, then I lie back on the soft mattress, letting out a silent breath as I look up at him, waiting for him, the look in my eyes making it obvious how much I want him with me right now, how much I _need_ him.

And he doesn’t make me wait. In the blink of an eye, he’s joined me, our arms finding their way around each other once again, bare skin finally touching bare skin. I can feel him shudder at the sensation as I let my lips trail down his neck, caressing the warm skin softly, teasingly.

“Jesus Christ…” is all he whispers in the darkness, fingers digging into my arm as he closes his eyes. “Tell me this isn’t a dream…”

“The fact that you’re even considering this being a dream makes me question what you’re generally dreaming about,” I hiss back, unable to suppress a chuckle. And, incited by the remark, I topple him over, rolling myself on top of him, straddling him.

“Admit it,” I demand, the slightest hint of self-irony curving my lips. “It was my shirtless moment, wasn’t it?”

He gazes at me for a second, blinking, then starts laughing at that, and God, I love the way he looks up at me with his eyes shining like this, glistening in the faint light of the desk lamp that still reaches us over here, a mixture of amusement, thrill and lust. “You think too high of yourself, Clark,” he informs me with a smirk, then pushes himself up to bring our faces close again and catch my lips with his once more.

Fervent kisses burn as I push him back on the pillows, following him down, but what we share is more than just physical intimacy. It’s also a silent conversation, an argument, a way to try to settle our differences, a desperate plea to convince the other one of our stances and convictions.

An endeavor of uncertain success.

And yet. I want him to understand my view so badly, to lay down his arms in the figurative as well as in the literal sense. Cause I can’t bear to lose him anymore. Especially not now, after this.

I love the way he looks at me – wary, reluctant, yet defiant and passionate at the same time. The dim light making his eyes look darker, the messy hair, the sexy scruff making him look so handsome, so desirable. The murderous psychopath. The self-sacrificing companion. The charming friend. His soul is an endless abyss – I can’t wait to explore every part of it.

“You sure you want this?” I whisper, eyes not breaking away from his gaze.

He holds my eyes firmly. “I don’t really see myself leaving much doubt about that.”

He hasn’t done this before a lot, that’s obvious, so I try to be as careful and gentle as I can be –  which isn’t too easy, I admit, since I find myself wanting him more and more with every sharp breath sucked in, every flushed gasp let out, every moan suppressed.

The weak light of the desk lamp throws our bizarre, distorted shadows on the wall.

In a way, this night is the natural consequence, the ultimate culmination of all those feelings that drew us close those in the past few days: The joy of being each other’s center of the world, the bliss of nothing mattering except for us… And without even realizing it, we’ve both become _addicted_ to each other’s attention.

Now we’re delighting in its fulfillment, every grip, every sensation reaffirming that craving.

Both our worlds had been reduced, first to this one house, then to this one room – now, to this one person.

Eventually, I feel my mind cloud as I let myself succumb to the ecstasy of being with him, losing myself in that high, all of me crumbling, for him, and just for him.

 

***

 

Once the storm has subsided, I lie awake in the darkness, staring into the pitch black nothingness above us. His breath warm, slow and even against my neck. He’s not asleep either, I can feel it, even without looking at him.

Strangely, I don’t feel awkward or uneasy at all. On the contrary. Peaceful, good maybe even. The same kind of pleasant familiarity that has connected us all those past few days is still there. And it’s that very connection, that very bond that gives me the courage to speak.

“I don’t want you to chase the Indians off the ranch,” I state, soft but determined, finally spelling out what I’ve been thinking all along.

At first, the only response I get is silence. Then I feel him take a deep breath.

“Don’t,” he whispers eventually, fingers softly trailing up and down my arm, over and over again, a soothing trance. “Don’t ruin this moment.”

“Don’t you ruin our future,” I counter, now turning my head to look at him.

As soon as our eyes meet, he’s the one to turn away.

“Why can’t you just accept the Indians here?” I push. “I mean, just look at this wonderful week we had. We’ve been so content, so happy, even though they were around every second of it. They don’t really concern us.”

“They don’t really concern us _in here_ ,” Troy corrects me. “But the world keeps turning and there’s more to it than just this house.”

“So what?” I hiss. “It’s just a bunch of additional people living here. Avoid them.”

“People who don’t belong on this land,” he insists. “It’s not right they’re living off the fruits of our hard labor.”

“They’re contributing just as much,” I point out. “Working on the fields, guarding the fences… No one is getting anything without working hard for it in return.”

“They killed Travis,” Troy reminds me, voice now more harsh. “They made your mother go through the agony of losing the man she loved. You’re really willing to forgive them just like that?!”

_Well, you caring about that is a first_ , I think bitterly, but don’t say it out loud. Instead, I reply: “This isn’t about forgiving anything. It’s about breaking a vicious circle that’s only gonna end with all of us dead – including me.”

That final remark seems to get to him. It wasn’t my intention to use our bond against him. But if it helped to open his eyes…?

“So what?” he growls eventually. “You want me to abandon all my convictions and beliefs just like that?” His voice now definitely turning more aggressive.

“No,” I defend. “I just want you to _consider_ another way.” There’s a long silence. “Can’t you just bring yourself to live with _one_ single thing you don’t like, if you’re getting so much else in return?”

“What”, he counters, not without a derogative snort, then he shoots me a look. “ _You_?”

It sounds stupid if he says it like that, so I look away sheepishly. It _is_ what I meant.

“It would mean we could be together,” I whisper eventually, eyes hopefully trailing back to his. “Here, on the ranch, in safety and peace. All you needed to do was accept this one thing.”

Another snort, then he turns his head away. For a long time he doesn’t reply, and as I look at him, I notice his eyes have grown dark. I can guess what’s going on in his head. Until now, he had nothing to lose. Now on the other hand…

“Even if I did,” he whispers eventually, murmuring quietly, as if to himself, “there still wouldn’t be a future for us. Cause once Madison and Walker return, and we choose not to fight the Indians, my banishment still stands.”

That gives me a sting in the heart. I feel a strange kind of anxiousness settle inside my chest as his words sink in. He’s right about that, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. A bit of pleading won’t be enough to change my mother’s mind. And even if it were – why on earth would Walker care?

Involuntarily, I feel my arms tighten around Troy. “We’ve come such a long and rocky road,” I whisper a bit breathlessly. “It can’t be taken from us again, can it?”

He props himself up on his elbow, then looks down at me for a long while, expression serious. “I don’t know…” he whispers, then, slowly, parted lips are pressed against mine.

I kiss him back almost absentmindedly, the heaviness in my heart not dissolving in the slightest. We’ve come such a long and rocky road and it led us right to the place where we truly, honestly belong. I couldn’t bear to lose that. Not anymore.

 

***

 

Golden morning sunlight mixes with the scent of coffee – I’ve always loved the morning hours in the kitchen of the Otto house. And yet, today, the world seems even brighter than usual. With a blissful grin on my face, I grab the coffee pot from the machine and put it on the table, not really caring about still stepping on the occasional peg on the floor every once in a while. It’s not like anyone cared about continuing to pick them up last night, given the events that unfolded.

“Watch your step,” I warn as soon as Troy enters the kitchen, and the room seems to light up even more as he comes over to me and immediately greets me with a passionate kiss. It takes a while for us to break away, but once we do, he takes the pot to fill our mugs, eventually sitting down at the table.

As always, I take care of changing the bandage around his hand first, as it’s become our usual morning ritual. This time however, the occasional brushing of a finger over bare skin may evoke a goofy snicker from both of us.

“You know what, I had an epiphany last night,” I inform him, as I wrap the dressing around his hand to fix it.

“An epiphany?” he blinks at me for a moment, then starts laughing with fake surprise. “Oh _riiight_ , so that’s what it’s called… I’ve been searching for the term all morning. I knew it was something with - _gasm_ at the end…”

“ _Epiphany_ , Troy!” I correct, not without giving him a look of mock-scolding. “I had an _epiphany_ last night.”

“And not just one…” he reminds me with the wickedest of smiles.

I end up shaking my head at him, even though in reality, I can’t help grinning. “You’re an asshole, Otto,” I growl, but lean over the table to catch his lips in a warm, sensual kiss nevertheless.

“Hmmh,” he hums approvingly.

“I’m talking about the thing Langdon had when he finally managed to solve the mask riddle,” I point out, leaning back on my chair.

Troy’s still grinning at me. “So an orgasm, after all.”

“Why?” I cross my arms scoffing, raising my eyebrows. “Suddenly _you’re_ the expert on orgasms?”

“I didn’t say that,” he counters, nonchalantly focusing on his toast. “But you know I’m always eager to learn…”

I can’t help chuckling at that, then, with a sudden feeling of euphoria, I take a huge gulp from my coffee, hiding my smile behind the mug.

“Alright,” he goes on eventually, voice finally serious. “What kind of _epiphany_ did you have?”

“Well,” I shrug, as I put the mug back down and reach for a slice of toast myself. Buttering it, I shoot him a look. “The herd,” I say eventually, excitement sparking in my eyes. “You said it doesn’t move unless you lead it, didn’t you? So that means it still has to be where you left it, no?”

“Well, they might have scattered a bit…” he replies, but doesn’t seem to understand where I’m going with this. “We need to get rid of it, before your mom and Walker return, is that what you’re saying?”

A quiet snicker, a shake of the head. “Oh, they need to see it.”

His expression turns into a frown, but there’s surprise and curiosity in his eyes just as much.

“Alright, listen up,” I say eventually, then start explaining my plan.

He listens quietly, wary at first, but the longer I speak, the more his eyes start to shine. “It’s not the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” he comments eventually, and even though I’m aware of the sarcasm in his voice, I guess that’s about the highest praise you could ever get from Troy Otto. “There’s just one issue. For this to work, we would need to know in advance when exactly your mom and Walker will be returning.” His eyes lock back to mine. “How do we make sure we don’t miss that critical moment?”

“Simple,” I reply, shrugging. “I’m sure Mom’s trying to reach us over the radio nonstop. As soon as they get back into range, we’ll hear from her. Which means, they’ll be like… five, six hours from the ranch. Plenty of time for us to act…”

He stares at me for several seconds.

“So?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Fine,” he says eventually, giving me a low snicker. “Nicky Langdon, the super brains. Well, to hell with it. Why not give it a shot?” Getting up from his chair.

“Really?” I can’t believe my ears as I feel my eyes literally light up in relief. “You’re in?”

“I’m in,” he confirms, slowly coming over to me. Then I feel his hands on my shoulders. “Though just in case this doesn’t work,” he then says, and slowly leans down to me, voice now growing more seductive, “I’d say we make the most of the time we have left…”

A pleasant prickling runs down my entire body as he says this, a dreamy, passionate look on my face. He shoots me a smirk, one of his devious ones, and God, he’s so irresistible... Slowly, I close my eyes, expecting to be kissed – when all I hear eventually is a strange thud on the table.

Opening my eyes again, I blink at him for a second, then I can’t help bursting into laughter as I spot him sitting back down opposite me, the Mastermind game board between us.

He shoots me a gleeful grin. “What do you say?”

“Oh,” I counter with a snicker, taking a handful of the colorful pegs. “Bring it on.”

 

***

 

We do make the most of the following days. Play Mastermind, work together on fixing the walls upstairs, even listen on with Inferno, though now usually with both of us on the sofa. Especially for the nightly hours, however, we’ve found ourselves an additional hobby to spend the time with... Sorry, please excuse my inappropriate grinning.

I would have wished for things to stay like this forever, but as it is the case with everything, all good things have to come to an end eventually.

In our case, that moment is today, when – while I was outside digging for a new well with the others – all of a sudden a crackling noise interrupted the constant silence of the radio.

Immediately, I hurry home and climb the stairs, just to find Troy working on the shootout damage once more.

“Do you know what I hate about those plasterboards?” he asks, as soon as he notices me.

“No,” I reply immediately, “and I don’t really care right now.”

He stops and blinks at me over his shoulder.

I stare back at him with a serious expression, my voice dark and gloomy as I say it. “It’s time.”

He frowns, but hesitates, maybe even hopes it’s just me playing him a prank.

But all I do is swallow, holding his eyes wordlessly, then give him a slow nod.

He drops the trowel in his hands, gets up from the floor and heads for the bathroom. Inside, he crouches down in front of the bucket filled with sand and dirt we’ve prepared, takes a handful of it and runs it through his hair, messing it up in the process, then smears it on his face, on his clothes – the same ones he’s been wearing when he was banished.

Unfortunately, during his cleaning frenzy locked up in the laundry kitchen the night of his return, he’s put his dirty clothes in the washer. To keep the pretense alive, he’s been wearing those clothes every day now during his work in the house, to make sure they become dirty, dusty and sweaty again. Now, with the additional dirt and sand covering his hair and face, I have to admit he does look as if he came fresh from the desert.

“So, what do you think?” he asks, as he gets back up and turns around to face me.

“Looks pretty authentic,” I say, nodding at him encouragingly, before wriggling my nose. “Also smells pretty authentic.”

“Good,” he replies, not without a chuckle, “then I guess there’s no time to lose. “ He pushes past me to head downstairs, when suddenly I grab his arm.

“Wait!” I say – and as he turns around, I catch his lips in the most heartfelt kiss I’m able to muster at this very moment without breaking down.

He holds his breath, returning it immediately, strong, passionate, honest – the essence of our love.

“In case we don’t see each other again… in a while…” I start, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.

“I’ll come back to you, one way or another,” he assures me, voice breaking slightly, but it might well just be him being breathless from the kiss. “Have to, no matter what.”

A warm feeling starts spreading through my heart. “You better,” I reply, weak and demanding at the same time.

He touches my arm, then softly starts stroking over it. “I will.” Then his hand comes to rest on my shoulder.

“Good,” I whisper, and I’m just about to lean in to his touch, when all of a sudden another thought crosses my mind. “Please don’t come back in zombie form though.”

He blinks at me for a second, then starts laughing at that unexpected remark, and to my surprise, my own reaction comes out a strange mixture of a chuckle and a sob. He grins at me, then wraps his arms around me and I hug him back, enjoying his warmth against me.

I’m grateful for the joke. If this is indeed the last time we see each other, I’d rather remember us laughing.

 

***

 

In the end, Lola had accepted the deal.

Madison still can’t believe they’d made it work, not even now, as they’re on their way back to the ranch with a tanker full of water. She wants to relax, wants to feel happy about it, but in the depths of her soul, there’s still that tiny little voice that tells her: Don’t rejoice too soon. To every piece of luck, there’s a matching piece of bad luck. Sometimes, it just takes a while to be revealed.

She hopes Alicia, Nick and everyone else at the ranch is alright. She hopes they made do with the little water they had left. The most tragic irony of fate would be for them to return to the ranch with the water – to find their home destroyed and everyone living there dead.

_No!_ Involuntarily, she shakes her head. Don’t even think that. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. We’ll drink the water and live. Everything else, we’ll figure out in time.

She’s just about to close her eyes to get at least a little bit of sleep after all, when all of a sudden, the truck is yanked to an abrupt halt.

Eyes opening wide immediately, she stares at the road ahead. “Strand, what the hell?!”

The friend she was just reunited with points into the distance, pale. “What on _earth_ is that?!”

There’s a deep valley spreading before them, and down there in the gorge… hundreds, no, _thousands_ of walkers… a huge, lifeless procession, an endless crowd, like hordes of people heading to a soccer match or a pop concert.

Madison holds her breath. She’s never seen anything like that before, the extend makes her head feel dizzy for a second.

She grabs her binoculars as they get out of the car, to shudder, gape and marvel at the sight, but looking through it, she immediately regrets it.

Her eyes fall on a person a little further down the slope – a familiar figure holding a grenade launcher in his hands, a belt of ammo strapped over his shoulders.

“He’s gathered them,” Walker hisses immediately, spotting the person with plain eyes. “He’s leading them towards the ranch. He wants to wipe the entire place off the face of the earth…”

For a second, that same realization hits Madison – and she regrets showing mercy when she had her gun pointed at him. But that thought only lasts a second. Because right at that moment, Troy launches one of the grenades – and it by no means explodes in the direction of the ranch. On the contrary…

“No, he isn’t…” she whispers, observing the sight with an almost mesmerized look. “He’s leading them away…”

And before either Strand or Walker can reply to that, Troy has spotted them above him on the edge.

Getting up from his crouching position, he raises his arms. “Help!!” His screams reach them blurred and faint, but clearly decipherable nevertheless. “I need help!!”

 

***

 

I don’t have to look outside to know they’re back. As soon as the roaring of a heavy Diesel catches my attention, the everyday noises of the busy ranch are interrupted by merry shouts and cheers. I don’t waste a second, grab my jacket and head outside, just to spot people running towards the tanker passing the gates.

There’s a strange mixture of two very opposite feelings filling my heart as I step on the porch. For a second, I stop and take a deep breath, trying to calm down. There’s joy and relief on the one hand, of course, seeing my mom has returned safe and sound – and apparently successful on top of it. My family’s alright, and the ranch isn’t doomed to die of thirst anymore.

On the other hand, however, there’s anxiety and nervousness, and I find myself praying that this plan we’ve cooked up will actually play out alright. With that unexpected turn my relationship with Troy has taken in those past few days, my happiness may well depend on it.

For a second, that amazing feeling of solidarity, peace and eventually love that living with Troy has evoked inside me surges over me, warming my soul from inside, and bits and pieces of memory flash through my mind.

The unexpected reunion on the porch. The fight in the corridor. Us, sitting on opposite sides of the laundry kitchen door. _You do count._

Gentle fingers wrapping a bandage around an injured hand. Us chasing through Florence in our imagination, accompanying Robert Langdon on his quest to save humanity. Spending endless hours at the kitchen table playing Mastermind.

Kisses, touches in the dark. _For the first time in my life, I don’t feel alone anymore._

_Have faith_ , I think to myself, as I step down the porch and head towards the tanker. Everything will turn out alright.

 

“Mom!” I call, as soon as I’ve reached the excited crowd.

“Nick!” She turns around and smiles as I wrap my arms around her.

“You’re back!” I whisper against her hair. “And you did it!”

“Yeah, we did. We got the water.” I feel her return the embrace for a second. Then however, as she pulls back, I notice a strange kind of worry dampening her smile. The horde, I think to myself. So she must have indeed run into Troy. _Perfect._

I don’t get a chance to address her uneasiness, as all of a sudden, I’m in for a little surprise myself.

“Nick Clark!” From the passenger door of the truck, a familiar figure emerges, and one I would have never expected to see here of all places.

“Strand?!” I shake my head, coming over to wrap my arms around my friend as well. “What on earth are you doing here?!”

“It’s a long story, kid,” the man replies with his trademark grin. “Let’s save it for a boring evening and a bottle of wine. As for now…”

I notice his eyes have started following my mother, who’s already hurried off, heading down towards the pantry with Walker.

I blink at Strand. “What the hell is going on? Is something wrong?”

Victor purses his lips. “We got it under control,” is all he replies with a reassuring pat on my shoulder, before he rushes after them as well.

Of course, I don’t waste a second but follow them, too. As I reach the pantry, Walker, Mom and Strand are already busy packing a bunch of heavy grenade launchers into two duffle bags.

Eyes wide open, I stare at them. “What the hell is going on?” I repeat, shaking my head.

Mom stops in her tracks. “There’s no need to worry, honey,” she tells me, as she comes over to me. “I promise. Just a little issue we need to take care of. We’ll be back in no time.”

“Mom,” I call her, but she shushes me.

“Go help the others with the water.”

“I wanna _help,_ Mom,” I insist, and she stops, gazing at me.

“I wanna help,” I repeat, face determined.

And for the first time ever since her return, she seems to look at me properly, maybe even reminding herself that I’m not the child anymore she sometimes still tends to see in me.

She blinks, then her expression softens. “Of course,” she says, shooting me a smile. “Thank you, honey.” She hands me one of the grenade launchers. “Here you go. I’ll fill you in in the car.”

 

***

 

“ _Troy_?!” I hiss, leaning forward to the passenger seat. “What the hell is _he_ doing here?!” Yup, I’m actually very good at this. I’ve had a lot of training playing innocent. Thanks to years and years of ‘ _I have no idea how that got into my pocket_ ’…

“Well, I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to figure out what’s going on here,” Walker suddenly chips in. “A horde like that doesn’t emerge by itself. Someone must have _gathered_ them. And as far as I’m concerned, the number of people with grenade launchers in their immediate proximity is pretty limited.”

“You think it was Troy?” I frown. “But you said he was in the middle of leading them _away_.”

Walkers shrugs. “Maybe his conscience started pricking him after all.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” To my surprise, it’s actually Mom coming to Troy’s defense. “Troy and pangs of conscience?” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Doesn’t sound much like him, does it? Think of what happened in the past. When he felt betrayed by people he liked, he made short shrift of them.” It’s obvious she’s referring to the Trimbols. “No pangs of remorse there, at least not until the deed had been done.” She takes a glimpse at us through the rear mirror. “See the parallel? If Troy really intended to harm the ranch, he would go through with it and not turn around halfway.”

Well, it’s not the most flattering defense, but it’s a defense nevertheless. And whether Walker likes it or not, he seems to see her point.

“Mom’s right,” I support her quickly. “For Troy to change his mind on something like this, it would’ve taken _extensive_ appealing and _lots_ of convincing. And I can’t really see how that should’ve happened out here in the middle of nowhere, with no one around but himself.”

Indeed, cause what it would have _actually_ taken for him to change his way is: Him secretly returning to the ranch, getting taken prisoner by me, spending some days playing house with me, listening to almost ten hours of Dan Brown, getting his ass kicked at Mastermind, making out with me under the kitchen table, having a few _epiphanies_ with me… and somewhere along the way ending up with something to lose.

Somehow I doubt that scenario ranks very high on their list of potential guesses…

 I lean back on my seat, then cross my arms over my chest. “No. In my opinion, it’s more likely he crept around close-by, simply because he couldn’t help it. Then he saw the horde coming.”

“If it wasn’t him,” Walker goes on after a while, “then who else should have done it?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe someone gathered them for an entirely different purpose and accidentally set them free? Maybe they overwhelmed their creator, and he’s now endlessly roaming the desert with them. I have no idea. But there’s one thing I know for sure: There’s no shortage of crazy assholes out there.”

 

Not even half an hour later, the nauseating stench of the dead reaches us even inside the car.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Strand asks, slowing down the pickup. The sight that awaits us as we reach the edge of the gorge is enough of an answer.

“Oh my freaking God…” I catch myself pressing my hand on my mouth as all of a sudden, the full scope of what Troy’d actually been doing out here hits me like a bolt of lightning. I have no idea what I’d pictured when he’d told me about this herd of his. But this… this is beyond everything I could have ever imagined in my worst nightmares. To think I’ve been calmly playing house with Troy all those days while in truth an army of the dead had been lurking right on our doorstep… It sends a shiver down my spine.

All the more reason to lead them away as fast as possible.

Hastily getting out of the car, we gear up with the grenade launchers, then hurry down the slope to come to Troy’s aid.

For a second, his eyes meet mine – but I’m doing my best to look at him the way I would have looked at him before everything changed: A neutral, maybe slightly skeptical gaze. He’s an equally talented actor. He barely acknowledges me before turning to the others.

“Took you long enough,” is all he comments in the end. “I don’t think I could have kept them together much longer…” An obvious lie, since he was perfectly fine getting the horde this far all by himself.

The others don’t have any reason to doubt his claims, though.

“Shall we split up, so we can cover more ground with the grenades?” Mom asks.

“Guess that would be best,” Troy nods. “But be careful, getting them to move in the direction you want them to is one hell of a pain in the ass. Don’t aim too far ahead. If you do, only the closest ones will turn around and follow. The rest will just keep moving, and you’ll end up splitting the horde. We have to take small steps, otherwise we’ll just waste our ammo.”

It’s a tedious job indeed to guide the entire horde by grenade impacts, and in the most cynical way I even start feeling tempted to draw my hat to Troy for having gotten them this far all by himself. No wonder he was a hopeless mess when he approached me on the porch.

Once we have the knack of how this works though, we move forward comparatively fast. And about two hours later, the end of the gorge comes into sight.

In the end, we let off a literal firework of grenades, creating a semi-circle of explosions all around us – and the dead start shuffling off into random directions.

The horde dissolves. The ranch is safe.

 

For a few minutes, we watch the walking corpses head off into the distance. Eventually, I let out a relieved sigh and with a smile on my face I turn to my companions – when right at that moment, the clicking of a safety catch released makes the blood freeze in my veins.

Don’t rejoice too soon. To every piece of luck, there’s a matching piece of bad luck.

 

***

 

Eyes widened in shock, I stare at Walker pointing his gun at Troy, glaring at the young man with a hostile expression.

Troy stares back at his long-time nemesis, a defiant look in his eyes.

“Walker,” Madison says, taken aback by this unexpected turn of events just as much as me.

Walker doesn’t even grace her with a glance. “You broke the banishment,” he informs Troy, voice deep and collected, as always.

“Broke the banishment?” Troy snorts. “Are you out of your freaking mind?! I was forbidden to return to the ranch and I didn’t – no matter it’s my rightful home. Forgive me if I wasn’t aware the banishment extended to all of California and half of fucking Mexico.”

Diplomacy isn’t Troy’s strongest suit, no surprise here. But hell, why can’t he just fake a little bit of submissiveness, even if just to placate Walker? I shoot him a look _. Remember the plan! Think of our future!_

His aggression does soften a little at that. Casting his eyes down, he repeats, more quietly this time: “I didn’t break the banishment. I saw the horde coming and tried to stop it.”

For a few moments, no one dares to say a word, all eyes are focused on Walker and his gun.

“He’s right, Taqa,” Mom eventually says, appealing to him. “He didn’t break the banishment. On the contrary, I don’t even want to imagine the horrors we would have returned to if he hadn’t gotten them to turn around in time.”

“I think he’s proven his loyalty,” I join in, careful not to let it show how much I’m actually on Troy’s side here. “We should think of lifting the banishment.”

“Lifting?!” Now Walker’s eyes meet mine, and they are as cold as ice. “He’s killed six of my people! Innocent people, good people!”

“And now he’s saved _all_ of the rest,” Mom points out – a plain truth, simple and powerful. “Each one of them is alive thanks to him.”

The words take a while to sink in. But eventually there’s a flicker in Walker’s eyes. Holding my breath, I watch him lower the gun.

“Fine. I accept that,” the black-haired man eventually says, eyes still focused on Troy, “but it doesn’t mean I forgive you. I don’t trust you, and I never will. Better make sure I don’t regret this, cause next time, I won’t settle for a simple exile.”

With that, he turns around, then slowly starts heading up the slope towards the car.

It takes me a few blinks to realize the extent of Walker’s part pardon, part threat. Jesus Christ… So our plan did work out after all?! Troy’s allowed back on the ranch?!

For a second, a huge wave of euphoria surges over me, and I have to resist the urge to wrap my arms around Troy and kiss him right under everyone’s eyes. It’s hard enough to keep my smile from turning into the Cheshire cat’s grin.

I can’t believe it! Now, we can actually be together! We can have a future!

It feels like we’ve been granted a second chance. And I’m hell-bent on taking it.

 

***

 

 

With the others eventually turning around to follow Walker to the car, Troy’s surprised as he suddenly feels Madison’s hand on his arm, holding him back.

He shoots her a puzzled look over his shoulder, she holds his eyes.

“I told you I wanted you with me,” she starts, as soon as the others are out of earshot, “and I meant it.” Her eyes are piercing and serious. “But I’ll always choose the sake of the many over the sake of one single person.” She shrugs. “You understand. You’d do the same.”

“I would,” Troy agrees slowly, firmly holding her eyes.

She nods. “So don’t make me choose.”

“I won’t,” he counters eventually, and he means it. “I thought I had nothing to lose, so I fought to get back what was taken from me.” His voice is calm and steady as he speaks. “But if there’s one thing I learned in my exile, it’s the fact that I may actually have more to lose than I’d originally thought. I have no intention of risking that.”

Gaze unreadable, Madison eyes him for a long while. “Good,” she says eventually, a slight smirk curving her lips. “Try not to forget about that again too soon.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Troy replies with a snort. “I certainly won’t.” Stealthily, his eyes trail over to Nick, who’s already busy loading the grenade launchers back into the car with the others. As he looks up from his work, their eyes meet. A subtle grin, nothing more.

“Good,” Madison says, nodding at the car. “Let’s head home then.”


End file.
